Disclaimer: AU Story. Based on Shirebound's wonderful drabble, "Grace";
much thanks for her permission. The characters and settings continue to
belong to Tolkien. But the plot is mine and I very much hope that you enjoy
it. ^^
Lily Baggins: Delicious? What a wonderful way of describing it- thank you! Hope you enjoy ensuing chapters.
Shirebound: Don't worry, we'll get Fanfiction to work someday. Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow but someday. I'm so pleased you were drawn into it. Hehe, you liked that line? I can't resist throwing in a few "what if the hobbits hadn't been saved?"s in there.
Heartofahobbit: Oh, thank you! It's always wonderful when you are able to visualise something clearly in your head, so it's heart-warming to know that my writing helped you with that. Thank you!
MagicalRachel: I'm so glad the chapter cheered up your day- thank you so much for your lovely comments. I'm amazed too at the reaction this story has brought. Thank goodness that the Gandalf part came out OK, I was worried he didn't sound very book-like. Hope this chapter cheers you up as well!
Lovethosehobbits: Heh, thank you, and I hope you enjoy this update!
~ Chapter Two ~
Merry could only stare at the two shells of his companions that lay on the bed in front of him. Pippin was sitting up uneasily on the opposite side of the pavilion, massaging his chest with his bruised fingers.
"Merry?" he said quietly.
His friend started and jumped round.
"Oh, sorry, Pip," he answered with a smile, "Am I neglecting you?"
"Not at all. You fuss too much as it is. No, I...well...look at them. That can't be them, can it?"
"It can," Merry sighed, "It shouldn't be, though. You know, I've always taken to remembering them in a certain way. As if I've got a portrait of each of my friends and family painted into my mind; yes, your picture too. Smiling faces that always kept me going. No matter what evil I was facing, I always had my portraits. But Frodo and Sam have changed so very much from how I remember them."
"You remember them the right way," replied the little hobbit stoutly but quickly softened his voice so as not to disturb his companions. Yet they seemed far beyond the real world. Frodo and San now appeared little more than statues, their alabaster faces set about with unkempt tangles of hair.
"I wish they would wake up," Pippin grumbled, "I miss them terribly. Just sitting here and looking at them is no fun at all."
"Yes, it will be so much better when they wake. I can just imagine their voices. But I don't have a clue as to what they'll tell us. We know so little of what happened to them."
"I wonder what Frodo will make of me being a proper knight."
Merry grinned and came across to give his cousin a hug- Pippin noticed that he had taken to doing this more often than usual- saying,
"Knowing Frodo, he'll be almost too proud to speak."
"Poor Sam, though," Pippin replied, a little unhappily.
"How so?" Merry asked as he drew away from the embrace.
"He's already taken to calling me Master. He'll get in such a fluster about how to address me now I've got yet another title."
"Ah, yes. I think we will have to convince him to give up any formality towards us. I certainly don't feel like a Master or Mister. Funnily enough, I feel like a proper Meriadoc now."
"I feel like a Peregrin too," Pippin laughed, "Perhaps Sam will agree to that. Afterall, he can't deny us our proper names, surely!"
For a few moments, the pair fell silent. The dawn breeze scuttled through the cloth entrance, sweeping round in a warm arc to fill the tent. It was like the breath that neither Frodo nor Sam had taken for so very long. The sky above was swimming with colours, seeping across for the first time over Mordor. But the friends of the Ringbearers would look up and curse. Nothing should be so beautiful while the bravest and most beautiful of all were still in peril. In the other pavilions, when they awoke, men strained forward and gripped the sleeves of the medics, asking in frightened whispers if "the little ones" had stirred. So far, the answer remained the same.
The breath retreated back into the lips of the atmosphere and the material of the abode stilled. Frodo and Sam had not changed. There was always some delirious hope that, with any tiny change or event, something would happen. Anything. But it was the same. Merry shook his head to himself.
"As long as Sam wakes up, I don't mind what he calls us. But...come to think of it, there is one thing that I would miss if he stopped the formalities. His Mister Frodo."
Pippin gave his cousin an involuntary squeeze. It was such a warm and familiar phrase and it conjured up vivid pictures of Bag End and the two friends perched on the bench outside, laughing about the world and its peculiar habits.
'That shan't ever change,' the hobbits thought, 'Even after this terrible war, there will still be dear Sam and his Mister Frodo.'
--
All four hobbits were fast asleep. Aragorn peered inside the pavilion to make out their hazy shapes against the white of the sheets. Overhead, the day was beginning to lengthen among the clouds, sending out wide circles of light like the ripples in a pool. He sighed lightly. This waiting was intolerable. Nothing he did or gave seemed to be having effect. He could quite easily cure the visible wounds, but what of those still buried inside? When Gandalf had pressed his hands to Frodo's temples, he had quietened for a great many hours, though the hobbit had cried out severally and writhed under the touch. At last, removing his hands, Gandalf had no words to describe what he had seen. The utter blackness of despair that had taken Frodo for so very long. The wheel of fire winding clearly along the path of Mordor, weighing him down with every step and dragging him into the rock-encrusted earth. But now that the pictures of its horror had been shown, it appeared that the burden was less for the little hobbit. He accepted the blessing of sleep gratefully and was pressed no more.
Aragorn entered as silently as he could and went to Frodo's bedside. He longed to see a smile waiting for him. He longed for the bright eyes to open and sparkle with delight. Yet, of course, the haggard sunken mask of sleep was still being worn.
"What more can I do for you?" the man breathed, putting a hand to the side of Frodo's face. There came no answer.
--
The waiting was terrible. For the Ringbearers' companions, it was agony. Each day that passed lengthened tenfold by their continuing rest. Surely, as Pippin often complained, surely they had slept for long enough. They had to wake them now. But Gandalf was adamant. He had seen things beyond comprehension behind Frodo's eyes, things that were ever imprinted on his soul and could never be removed. It was impossible to imagine such pain and heartache. Yet they had survived. Now, it was down to his friends to be patient and along the terror to sink from their memory. To bob below the surface, at least for now. A week went by. Though it became an eternity for the Fellowship. Often they would sit by the beds of Frodo and Sam and tell them of the goings on in Ithilien. Say how they were and how they were feeling. They would describe the rolling hills and the vibrant flowers that burst forth from the banks of the Forbidden Pool, now forbidden no longer.
Days struggled on but they now seemed little more than obstacles. Aragorn tended Frodo and Sam with powerful devotion, not once letting his concentration slip. He pressed poultices into the scars on Frodo's back. He bound Sam's scarred brow with soft white cloth. Their healing sleep wove a peace around the pavilion that none had felt before. Though the friends still worried and fretted every day for their companions, they still felt calm whenever they sat by the bedsides and looked into the faces of two who had sacrificed so much.
So it was that Gandalf found Pippin one morning, weeping inconsolably into his hands and murmuring over and over in ragged breaths,
"Why did they have to go?"
Lily Baggins: Delicious? What a wonderful way of describing it- thank you! Hope you enjoy ensuing chapters.
Shirebound: Don't worry, we'll get Fanfiction to work someday. Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow but someday. I'm so pleased you were drawn into it. Hehe, you liked that line? I can't resist throwing in a few "what if the hobbits hadn't been saved?"s in there.
Heartofahobbit: Oh, thank you! It's always wonderful when you are able to visualise something clearly in your head, so it's heart-warming to know that my writing helped you with that. Thank you!
MagicalRachel: I'm so glad the chapter cheered up your day- thank you so much for your lovely comments. I'm amazed too at the reaction this story has brought. Thank goodness that the Gandalf part came out OK, I was worried he didn't sound very book-like. Hope this chapter cheers you up as well!
Lovethosehobbits: Heh, thank you, and I hope you enjoy this update!
~ Chapter Two ~
Merry could only stare at the two shells of his companions that lay on the bed in front of him. Pippin was sitting up uneasily on the opposite side of the pavilion, massaging his chest with his bruised fingers.
"Merry?" he said quietly.
His friend started and jumped round.
"Oh, sorry, Pip," he answered with a smile, "Am I neglecting you?"
"Not at all. You fuss too much as it is. No, I...well...look at them. That can't be them, can it?"
"It can," Merry sighed, "It shouldn't be, though. You know, I've always taken to remembering them in a certain way. As if I've got a portrait of each of my friends and family painted into my mind; yes, your picture too. Smiling faces that always kept me going. No matter what evil I was facing, I always had my portraits. But Frodo and Sam have changed so very much from how I remember them."
"You remember them the right way," replied the little hobbit stoutly but quickly softened his voice so as not to disturb his companions. Yet they seemed far beyond the real world. Frodo and San now appeared little more than statues, their alabaster faces set about with unkempt tangles of hair.
"I wish they would wake up," Pippin grumbled, "I miss them terribly. Just sitting here and looking at them is no fun at all."
"Yes, it will be so much better when they wake. I can just imagine their voices. But I don't have a clue as to what they'll tell us. We know so little of what happened to them."
"I wonder what Frodo will make of me being a proper knight."
Merry grinned and came across to give his cousin a hug- Pippin noticed that he had taken to doing this more often than usual- saying,
"Knowing Frodo, he'll be almost too proud to speak."
"Poor Sam, though," Pippin replied, a little unhappily.
"How so?" Merry asked as he drew away from the embrace.
"He's already taken to calling me Master. He'll get in such a fluster about how to address me now I've got yet another title."
"Ah, yes. I think we will have to convince him to give up any formality towards us. I certainly don't feel like a Master or Mister. Funnily enough, I feel like a proper Meriadoc now."
"I feel like a Peregrin too," Pippin laughed, "Perhaps Sam will agree to that. Afterall, he can't deny us our proper names, surely!"
For a few moments, the pair fell silent. The dawn breeze scuttled through the cloth entrance, sweeping round in a warm arc to fill the tent. It was like the breath that neither Frodo nor Sam had taken for so very long. The sky above was swimming with colours, seeping across for the first time over Mordor. But the friends of the Ringbearers would look up and curse. Nothing should be so beautiful while the bravest and most beautiful of all were still in peril. In the other pavilions, when they awoke, men strained forward and gripped the sleeves of the medics, asking in frightened whispers if "the little ones" had stirred. So far, the answer remained the same.
The breath retreated back into the lips of the atmosphere and the material of the abode stilled. Frodo and Sam had not changed. There was always some delirious hope that, with any tiny change or event, something would happen. Anything. But it was the same. Merry shook his head to himself.
"As long as Sam wakes up, I don't mind what he calls us. But...come to think of it, there is one thing that I would miss if he stopped the formalities. His Mister Frodo."
Pippin gave his cousin an involuntary squeeze. It was such a warm and familiar phrase and it conjured up vivid pictures of Bag End and the two friends perched on the bench outside, laughing about the world and its peculiar habits.
'That shan't ever change,' the hobbits thought, 'Even after this terrible war, there will still be dear Sam and his Mister Frodo.'
--
All four hobbits were fast asleep. Aragorn peered inside the pavilion to make out their hazy shapes against the white of the sheets. Overhead, the day was beginning to lengthen among the clouds, sending out wide circles of light like the ripples in a pool. He sighed lightly. This waiting was intolerable. Nothing he did or gave seemed to be having effect. He could quite easily cure the visible wounds, but what of those still buried inside? When Gandalf had pressed his hands to Frodo's temples, he had quietened for a great many hours, though the hobbit had cried out severally and writhed under the touch. At last, removing his hands, Gandalf had no words to describe what he had seen. The utter blackness of despair that had taken Frodo for so very long. The wheel of fire winding clearly along the path of Mordor, weighing him down with every step and dragging him into the rock-encrusted earth. But now that the pictures of its horror had been shown, it appeared that the burden was less for the little hobbit. He accepted the blessing of sleep gratefully and was pressed no more.
Aragorn entered as silently as he could and went to Frodo's bedside. He longed to see a smile waiting for him. He longed for the bright eyes to open and sparkle with delight. Yet, of course, the haggard sunken mask of sleep was still being worn.
"What more can I do for you?" the man breathed, putting a hand to the side of Frodo's face. There came no answer.
--
The waiting was terrible. For the Ringbearers' companions, it was agony. Each day that passed lengthened tenfold by their continuing rest. Surely, as Pippin often complained, surely they had slept for long enough. They had to wake them now. But Gandalf was adamant. He had seen things beyond comprehension behind Frodo's eyes, things that were ever imprinted on his soul and could never be removed. It was impossible to imagine such pain and heartache. Yet they had survived. Now, it was down to his friends to be patient and along the terror to sink from their memory. To bob below the surface, at least for now. A week went by. Though it became an eternity for the Fellowship. Often they would sit by the beds of Frodo and Sam and tell them of the goings on in Ithilien. Say how they were and how they were feeling. They would describe the rolling hills and the vibrant flowers that burst forth from the banks of the Forbidden Pool, now forbidden no longer.
Days struggled on but they now seemed little more than obstacles. Aragorn tended Frodo and Sam with powerful devotion, not once letting his concentration slip. He pressed poultices into the scars on Frodo's back. He bound Sam's scarred brow with soft white cloth. Their healing sleep wove a peace around the pavilion that none had felt before. Though the friends still worried and fretted every day for their companions, they still felt calm whenever they sat by the bedsides and looked into the faces of two who had sacrificed so much.
So it was that Gandalf found Pippin one morning, weeping inconsolably into his hands and murmuring over and over in ragged breaths,
"Why did they have to go?"